The Fall - Part 5

'Xin gan bao bei' literally means heart and liver treasure.  in chinese, you say this to someone that you recognize as the most important person. a person without whom you can not live without just like you can't live without your heart and liver. my uncle was my grandmother's 'xin gan bao bei'. so when he kicked her and my grandfather out of his house, it must've been traumatic. i was in my last year of high school when my grandparents took up 'residence' in our house. i could see why my uncle couldn't deal with them. there was no sense of peace living near them.

a year before their expulsion, HKC fell off a ladder while cleaning a gutter... it was the physical  plunge that led him on a spiritual journey he could not have forseen. HKC didn’t think much of it at first. he was 32 years old and in the prime of his career. he played through the pain until he couldn't play anymore. he was later diagnosed with focal dystonia whose symptoms include loss of control of the hand including fingers curling or sticking. it's a disease with no cure. my aunt recounted the scene where she and HKC realized the ramifications of his injury. "in vancouver HKC was supposed to play a concert but just couldn't do it. walking on the beach we were both crying... what was worse was that I had set up a piano concert series at the newton public library before he got injured. HKC was going to be the innaugural performer. he even had his piano brought to the place, he prepared it for the concert, but couldn’t play. at the last moment, we got russell sherman to fill in... it was so sad to see someone else give a concert on HKC's piano, had we known about the injury, i would never have set the piano series up." HKC was used to practicing 8-10 hours a day. the fall left a big void and my grandparents' constant bickering was too much to handle.

my grandfather and grandmother were each brilliant in their own way, which was great for me. he hailed from a line of farmers and would offer insights on how to eat expired fruit like "white mold is ok but black should be avoided," she came from educated middle-class beijing and could recite Li Bai poems from the top of her head in teaching me chinese like: "床前明月光 疑是地上霜 舉頭望明月低頭思故鄉. Chuáng qián míngyuè guāng Yí shì dìshang shuāng Jǔtóu wàng míngyuè Dītóu sī gùxiāng. Moonlight before my bed, Perhaps frost on the ground. Lift my head and see the moon, Lower my head and I miss my home." even though he was brilliant, my grandfather needed constant confirmation of his greatness in the form of fawning adulation. sick of his unorthodox behavior and tunnel vision shenanigans, my grandmother had the ability to cut him down and incite him into rages with her sharp tongue. later, when they lived in the Genesis House, an elderly community apartment complex, i would overhear stories of their quarrels. funny to outsiders, but crazy for the people caught in their storm. my grandfather used to dumpster dive. and when old people passed away at the Genesis House, he astutely observed their possessions would be hauled out to the sidewalks not long their expiration... agong was always on the lookout for 'useful' items to bring home... a lamp here, an industrial sized coffee maker there, some used chairs, and milk crates. he filled up half his room with his precious loot. my grandmother couldn't stand his pack rat tendencies... especially the day he brought in a used mattress from a recently deceased person for her to sleep in.

by expelling the parental turmoil around him, HKC could finally embark on the hardest period of his life. without the ability to do the activity which defined himself, he had to leave his ego and ambition aside. his quest to heal and continue his art  led him to embrace the tiny things in life... the details which create a full life... to live in the moment... to breathe.